Into the Night
by Rointheta
Summary: Lately, there's been a string of abductions in John Smith's neighbourhood and when he gets attacked, he thinks he'll be the next victim; however, a mysterious blonde appears out of nowhere and saves him. Ten/Rose, AU.


_This is the sixteenth fic in my 2013 Advent Calendar!_

**prompt**: "silver"  
**prompter**: lotsofthinkythoughts  
**beta**: resile  
**Note**: I will continue this in January. Yes, I am dreadful for posting this now, but this is what I thought of from this prompt so… Yeah.

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**INTO THE NIGHT - PROLOGUE**

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John gets out through the backdoor of the coffee shop and locks the door behind him, sliding the key into the front pocket of his jeans. He stretches out his stiff back and heads down the dim street, grunting at the ache in his feet. It should smell like garbage, urine, and exhaust gas outside, but all he can smell is coffee, as though the scent has clung to his nostrils and refuses to let go. He wrinkles his nose at the thought and rubs it, but it only worsens the effect and he sighs. Five blocks and he'll be home. Five blocks and he'll take a shower, change into his jimjams and fall asleep on the sofa in front of the telly.

He's passed the first block when he hears several sets of footsteps closing in on him on the quiet street. The sounds echo between the tall buildings, increasing the adrenalin coursing through him, and he quickens his pace. He's run all his life, long, strong legs earning him plaques, trophies, and medals as they've kept him ahead of his competition, but not this time. A chill trickles down his spine and he tightening his fists when a hand on his shoulder pulls him to a stop.

Three people have been abducted from this neighbourhood this month. No one he knows, but he's read the headlines, watched the news reports, listened in on customers chatting about it as the queue for another soy latte. None of the victims have anything in common, and none have been found. Everybody has theories: human trafficking, serial killings, gang initiations, drugs.

John hasn't been worried, though. Those things always happen to someone else; yet, here he stands, with something sharp pressing into his back and someone hissing in his ear. A rotten smell wafts from his attacker's mouth, chasing away the lingering scent of coffee from John's nose and he giggles despite himself.

His attacker growls and presses the object harder into John's back; he holds his breath and waits for the inevitable.

A golden and blue blur flashes before him and he hears a ruckus behind him. Flesh meeting flesh, bones breaking, grunts and cries of pain. The disturbing noises blend into a jarring cacophony and John finds out that his natural response to danger is neither fleeing nor fighting, but freezing. He's just about to squeeze his eyes shut and will his useless wobbly legs to bloody move, when an arm–an actual torn-off arm–flies past him and lands next to a rubbish bin.

A wet, warm hand slips into his. "Run," a woman says, tugging him along, and he stumbles after her.

It takes him several metres before his legs carry him without faltering and he can direct his focus on her. Blond hair whips behind her as she moves, a blue leather jacket covers her body, but he doesn't see _her_ until they have to cross a street and she whips her head to the right to check for traffic. She looks like any normal twenty year old–silver hoop earrings, thick layers of mascara, and gloss on her full lips–but her golden eyes gleam in the night, and his hand slips out of her grip. She gives him a stern look and grabs his hand again, taking him to a back alley several blocks away and directing him to sit on a fire escape.

Putting her hands on his shoulders, she leans closer and looks him straight in the eye. "You all right?"

"An arm. You tore someone's arm off!"

She cranes her neck and stares at the mouth of the alley, eyes flitting around, and she sniffs. "We're safe for now. And you're welcome, by the way. Rather rude, innit? I just saved your life and you don't even thank me."

He stares at the blood spatter on her jacket, on her hands, a few drops on her cheek, and shudders. "An arm! Right off! That shouldn't even be possible!"

"Suppose not."

"What the hell happened back there?"

She tilts her head and licks her lips, peering at him. "What do _you_ think?"

"Dunno. Drugs?" he says, voice squeaky. He clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair. "You're all on drugs? People get really strong, I've heard."

"Yeah, drugs. We're all on drugs. Good job."

He pauses, staring into her bright eyes. "You're not on drugs, are you?"

"No."

"Your eyes are brown, now, but I saw them before. Golden. Shining like stardust."

"What?" she says through a laugh. It makes her whole face light up, eyes twinkling as they meet his, and he forgets how to breathe. "Shining like what?"

He shrugs and ducks his head.

"D'you have any silver on you?"

"What?! What's that got to do with anything?"

"Do you?"

"Ehm, no. No, I don't. Who are you? How on Earth could you tear someone's arm off?"

"I'm nobody." She removes her earrings and presses them into his hand. "Wear these."

"In my ears? I don't-I don't… I don't have pierced ears."

"No, you plum. On your person. I only incapacitated them, yeah? As soon as they've healed, they're coming after you. These will protect you, though." She pats his hand and smiles. "If you run really fast. Think your legs will work better now?"

"Yep! I love to run. I'm fast, too. Got brilliant legs!"

She crinkles her nose. "Yeah?"

"Well…" He frowns. "Not so good when it really counts, though, I suppose."

She laughs. "No."

"But…what about you? Won't you need these? At least one of them?"

"Nah, you need both, all right? And I'll be fine. Got this," she says, holding a remote control in front of him. "Gonna blow those suckers into smithereens. Just need to lure them back to my trap."

"A bo– Who _are_ you?"

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "You can call me Bad Wolf."

"Really? Bad Wolf," he says, over-enunciating the words, tasting them. "That's a bit silly, though, isn't it?"

"Oi! It's very cool!" She regards him for a moment, nostrils flaring, gold glimmering in her eyes, and her expression softens. "You're good to go now. You're all right. Shock's over and all. I need to leave," she says, starting to climb up the fire escape.

"Will these really protect me?" he calls after her.

"Yeah. Silver weakens them. But you still need to hurry, so get a move on, then."

He stands up and tilts his head back, watching her swing her leg over the edge of the roof. "I'm-I'm John Smith, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, John Smith." She smiles. "Now, run for your life!"

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**to be continued**


End file.
